Tales of the N7: The Hearts of Rogues
by Shminaldi
Summary: The tale of a ragtag band of mercenaries and criminals on both the opening and waning days of the Reaper War.
1. Ch1: Arrivals

The Hearts of Rogues

Chapter One: Arrivals

The shuttle rocked and bounced as it flew over the battle-scarred city. Tirik Palad look around the cabin at…what were they now? His squad? That was what the liaison had called them. "Palad, you and your squad are to hold the east bridge and stymie the Reaper reinforcements that try to get across. We can't get caught in a pincer." His squad. The notion almost made him chuckle. To be called that after how they had gotten started. He was sure the others would have found it funny in their own way. Except for Megan, of course. He'd never seen the stern human smile. He wasn't sure what Janna saw in her.

Then again, maybe it was just a physical thing. It's not like her gang left her a lot of options. The other two, Kalok and Hahn, weren't exactly her type from what the turian could tell. He was pretty sure that Kalok was nobody's type. The krogan exile was crazy even compared to the normal insanity that his species was known for. Tirik had never found out how Janna had convinced him to join up with her. It certainly wasn't the creds; the walking tank cared little for that. From their track record, the jobs weren't violent enough to appeal to his blood lust, at least not enough to convince him to join.

Malus Hahn, however, was easier to read. The drell was in it for the pay; that much was obvious. Standard mercenary attitude but personable enough for a trained killer. He seemed to get along well enough with the rest of the criminals but Tirik had a feeling that, if things got bad enough, the drell would vanish like comets on a skyline. Malus would probably have the biggest reaction to being called a part of "Tirik's squad," laughing away in that whispering chuckle of his.

But Janna would find it funniest of all, of that Tirik was certain, but she wouldn't show it beyond a small smirk on her small face. The same one she wore when they first met. Met. There was another funny word about their situation. Tirik put his head back against the rattling hull, and thought back to that night onboard the Phaeton.

It was a risky job; Tirik knew that when he first conceived the idea. But those were the best kind, the biggest rush. Stow away on a criminal transport, hold the gang leader hostage, hijack the freighter and wait for the feds to arrive? Tirik knew his odds weren't anywhere near good, but then, if they had been, someone else would have taken the job. Someone with less guts, someone who cared about creds and surviving rather than the challenge and the glory.

That's not to say that the bounty for bringing in Elanos Haliat's little girl and her ragtag gang wasn't worth a pretty penny, as the human saying went. Despite the death of her infamous father several years before, Janna had put together quite the operation. They were small, very small compared the Blue Suns or the Eclipse, but their size worked to their advantage. They left less of a trail and could go to ground in the blink of an eye. In fact, finding their ship had been much more difficult than boarding it. Tirik had exhausted nearly all the contacts he had made over the course of his bounty-hunting career when he got a whisper that an eclectic band of mercenaries hijacked and robbed a space station. The name "Haliat" kept popping up across the comms. From there, Tirik merely had to chase them down.

He'd finally found them in the Batarian Hegemony, leaps away from any respectable form of legal authority. He'd had to gamble; if he lost them there he might never find them again. He'd stowed away in a starboard compartment. It wasn't easy—turian physiology wasn't made for compacting for hours on end—but it was not the worse he'd gone through. From the comm bursts that came every few hours, he could tell they rotated pilot duty. Well, everyone except for Kalok, of course. Even the boss lady took a turn at the helm. If she hadn't been a criminal, Tirik would've found that quality admirable.

He hacked into the ships schematics and waited, passing his time checking his weapons, keeping a keen edge on his talon and making sure his Phalanx and Revenant were in order. The Revenant was his last resort, his final card if things went critical, which they tended to do when there was a krogan was involved. He waited until Janna was alone at the wheel. Silent as a shadow, he made his way through the narrow corridors out of the cargo hold, talon reverse-gripped in his left hand. Most of the crew compartments were sealed. He could hear what he assumed were Kalok's snores coming from one of them. That was good. He'd fought krogan in close combat before; it was something he would rather avoid doing again.

Tirik checked his omni-tool. The deck was just ahead. He stowed his knife and drew his Phalanx from his hip. If Haliat turned around before he could reach her, the pistol would make a bigger impression. Breathing deep, Tirik opened the cabin door and, within two steps, pressed the barrel to the gang leader's temple. He heard a sharp intake of breath as he leaned in close to her other ear.

"Janna Haliat," Tirik growled, "you are under arrest for numerous counts of theft, smuggling, resisting arrest, battery, and murder."

"Murder?" she asked, her voice betraying no sign of fear.

"The guards you guys left in a pod in the Attican Beta cluster; they died of exposure."

She snorted, a small smirk crossing her thin lips, "Well, maybe if the rescue squad had gotten there qui—"

Tirik jabbed the Phalanx into the side of her head, tightening the smirk. "Enough." He studied the star map before speaking again. They were heading for the mass relay, and then Omega. Typical. "You're going to change course."

"Where to, boss?" She asked derisively, her fingers moving towards the projection.

"Easy," he snarled, watching her hand. She stopped moving. "Palaven. No tricks. The bounty only said to bring you in; it didn't say in what state. Though I'd prefer alive."

She cocked her head slightly. The smirk must've been tattooed on. "Oh? Does the badass turian merc have a soft spot for human girls?" she cooed.

He grabbed a fist full of black hair and pulled hard, finally clearing the smirk for a mask of pain. "Any more lip, Haliat, and the only soft spot in the room will be the one I put in your knee. Now, do it," he hissed. He watched as she altered the jump equation. His mandibles flared slightly as he noticed Palaven in the ship's recent logs. The gang was bold.

The cabin door behind them pinged, signaling an entry. Stupid, Tirik thought, forgot to lock the door. His free hand went to his belt and flicked the talon at the opening door. A woman grunted in pain. The sound of breaking ceramics made him look away from Haliat for an instant, but that was all the woman needed. He felt the Revenant leave his back and by the time he turned his head, the butt bludgeoned him across the face, knocking him out.

The shuttle bounced again, more jarring than the last. Kalok swore and banged his meaty fist against the cockpit door next to him. "Fly this tub right, meat!" He cocked his scaly head at Janna. "Can I eat him, boss?"

The woman was busy checking her omni-tool for the sixth time. "Only if we crash, Kalok."

The krogan nodded, seemingly satisfied with the condition.

Tirik had heard those words often during his time with the gang, but he had never seen them fulfilled. They had been the first words he'd ever heard Kalok say. They'd come at him through the blackness of unconsciousness.

"Can I eat him, boss?"

"Not right now, Kalok. " Haliat's voice. "Let's see what he has to say first."

"Kalok's got the right idea," another female voice said, the one from the doorway, "Let's just kill him and dump him out the airlock."

"And deny Kalok a meal?" Haliat jested. Something jabbed the side of his head painfully. "You awake, merc?"

His eyes flicked open and blinked as they adjusted to the light. He was bound to a chair in the cabin he had stowed away in. Haliat was sitting in front of him, leaning forward in her chair, his Revenant across her lap. She held a Phalanx up against his head, but it wasn't worn enough to be his. Her's then. Haliat looked pretty pleased with herself.

The krogan, Kalok, paced by the door, testy and hungry, apparently. Unlike Haliat, he was armored, light-blue metal plates gleaming against his grey scales. A Locust submachine gun strapped to his hip. Tirik found it odd that the krogan would have such a lightweight weapon, until Kalok turned to pace, revealing Graal Spike Thrower across his lower back. That was more like it.

Another human female sat on the crates in the corner. The airlock-woman. From the bandages on her shoulder, this was the person he'd struck with the talon. She was more muscular than Haliat, her face was sharper, harsher. Megan Laforge. Fierce combatant and, if the intel was good, Haliat's personal bodyguard. If the intel was really good, the two were closer than that.

"Interesting how roles can reverse in the span of a few minutes isn't it, merc?" Haliat said, drawing his attention. "Now, how did you find us? Hm? Who sold us out?"

Tirik laughed and then grimaced for the pain in his face, "Sold you out? Made some enemies have we?"  
Haliat stood up quickly, taking the Revenant in one hand and pressing the Phalanx to his forehead, "Listen, merc. I'm in no mood for games. My entire crew thinks I should kill you on the spot. For now, I disagree. The only reason you're still alive is because I believe you're of some value. So you better think really hard about your next words."

Tirik looked at the gun and then into the woman's eyes. "If I tell you, then why would you keep me alive?"

She held his gaze for a moment and then lowered the gun. "Fine, if that's how you want to play it," she said turning away from him, "Kalok, eat one of his legs."

The krogan took a step forward. A throaty voice came over the intercom.

"Boss, I need you on the bridge."

She looked up at the ceiling, "I'm a little busy, Malus."

"Now!"

"Megan, with me. Kalok, watch him. No eating until I get back," she barked as she left. Megan soon followed. And Tirik was left with Kalok. They stared at each other.

"It's frustrating, isn't it?" Tirik sneered.

"What?"

"To know that I came this close to ruining your entire life, this close to humiliating you without you even—"

The krogan's backhand to the side of his head cut him off, knocking the chair over. Tirik saw stars.

"Boss said I couldn't eat you. Never said anything about beating you." Kalok picked him up as if he weighed nothing at all, and sat him back down before delivering another blow to the other side of his face. Tirik hit the floor again, the iron taste of blood in his mouth. "Maybe Boss'll thank me," Kalok mused as he picked him up again, "maybe a little pain will loosen your tongue. Maybe she'll get mad." Tirik thought the krogan was going to set him down again, but instead the brute flung him against the side of the cabin. It wasn't nearly as painful as the punches, but that wasn't the point of it. With strength like that, the krogan could pop his head easier than a heat clip. "But that'll be okay, because hurting you'll still be fun." He flashed a predator's smile.

The room pulsed a dull red. At first, Tirik thought a coolant pipe had been shattered by the throw but then the alarm blared. WAAAHN, WAAAHN, WAAAHN. A VI came over the loud-speaker. "All hands to stations. Hostile contact imminent." It repeated the phrase after every scream of the alarm.

Kalok glared at him and yelled. "What did you do, meat?"

"This isn't me!" Tirik shouted.

"You better hope not." The door shut behind Kalok and Tirik was alone. He scrambled up awkwardly to a crouch, still bound by the chair. The chair was solid, so smashing it wasn't an option. He'd left a supply pack in the room as a fallback if things got out of hand, which at this point he had to say that they had. He was lucky they'd decided to hold him in this room. Obviously, the gang wasn't used to taking prisoners. Having his hands tied behind the chair made it difficult to find the spare talon, but once found, it made it easy to free himself. Unfortunately, the talon was all he had—they'd confiscated everything else.

As he surveyed his equipment, another thought crossed his mind: what was going on out there? Was the Hegemony taking issue with the human-controlled vessel being so close to their airspace? The ship still moved along at a steady hum, no shock of shots fired or taken.

He went to the console by the door. He prayed the VI wasn't voice-locked.

"Computer, give me a feed of outside cams."

For a moment, nothing happened. Then, the screen crackled to life and he saw them.

He'd been out of touch with Hierarchy's official business for a good while. But he still read the reports that looked interesting or relevant, one of which was the Vakarian Dossier.

Which is why he recognized the massive starships that swarmed around Khar'shan, setting the planet's atmosphere ablaze with the wreckage of ships and satellites. The Vakarian Dossier was right.

The Reapers had returned.

And they were blocking the Phaeton's path to the relay.


	2. Ch2: Spekilas

The Hearts of Rogues

Chapter Two: Spekilas

Malus Hahn found himself wondering what the hell he was doing here. He found himself wondering that many times over the past several months, so much so that he had lost count. If the Creators did exist, one would think that they had it out for him, though he couldn't imagine why. Aside from doubting their existence, he'd never done anything particularly blasphemous. Sinful, yes, he'd done quite a few things of that nature, but nothing to the level of profane. Unless, of course, the gods found that being a charming and handsome assassin with scores of beings' blood on his hands was simply crossing the line. Were that the case, it might explain a bit.

On his left, Kalok grumbled about the turbulence, threatening the pilot with cannibalism. The man was lucky he wasn't getting out when the shuttle landed at the drop zone. Reapers would've been the last of his problems. Malus felt for the man as much as he was able: Kalok had threatened to eat him numerous times over the course of his tenure with the gang. Only him of course—the krogan treated Megan and Janna like goddesses in spacesuits. Malus supposed Tirik got a bit of it too, but the turian wasn't really part of the gang, just a merc in the wrong place at the wrong time. Right time for the gang, though. Had Tirik not stowed on board the Phaeton all those months ago, the rest of them might not have lived long enough to most likely die here on Earth.

Malus had been the pilot's chair when he'd seen them: massive tendrilled ships swarming around Khar'shan, setting the planet's atmosphere ablaze as they destroyed countless satellites and ships. Some of the ships were military, futilely trying to destroy their assailants. Others were civilians, destroyed in an even more futile attempt to reach the mass relay.

When Janna entered the cockpit, ready to berate him for interrupting her interrogation, she'd been rendered speechless at the sight of it, just as he had been. It lasted but a moment, though. She quickly hit the alarm and strapped herself into the co-pilot's chair.  
"What are those things?" she'd asked.

"No clue," Malus rasped, "They haven't noticed us yet, thought."

The comm squawked. It was Laforge in the turret. "The hell's going on, Jan?"

Another voice came over the radio, "It's the Reapers."

"Who the hell? Merc? How did you get to the comm? Kalok, I told you to keep him secure!"

"Please listen to me." Odd, the merc sounded like he was begging. "My name is Tirik Palad. My father was General Vathis Palad. My brother is in Blackwatch. But none of that matters right now. Because now I'm just another ant, just like the rest of you. Because that's what we are to those things: ants, pests, refuse. Those are the Reapers. And they are here to kill all of us; merc, soldier and criminal. If you don't listen to me right now, we are all going to die."

A loud bang resounded over the intercom. And then another. Kalok must've been trying to bludgeon his way into the compartment.

"Please, you have to understand. There are no cops and criminals anymore. There's just life as we know it and oblivion. I have files that—"

With a screech of rending metal, Kalok roared over the speaker.

"Wait, Kalok!" Janna shouted. Kalok's roar died down to a growl. Then, Janna spoke again. "You said you had files merc?"

"The Vakarian Dossier," the merc's voice was tense, "it was a prep-plan for the Reaper invasion. Wasn't given much weight. A mistake, it seems. It's on my omni-tool."

Malus watched Janna think for a moment, her eyes straight ahead. "Upload it to the ship's computer."

Laforge spoke, "Jan—"

"No tricks, merc," Janna stated. There were a few electric pings as the turian keyed into his omni-tool. The display in front of Janna lit up. Pictures, documents, figures sprang from the empty haptic window. Janna parsed through them quickly, but not quick enough for Malus to fall behind. The report was catastrophic. If the projections were correct, the death toll would be truly innumerable. A word to describe the situation: hopeless..

Janna came to the last picture, one of a human female with dark red hair, the characters "N7" emblazoned on her armor. Janna snorted. Malus didn't know who the woman was, but Janna seemed to.

Over the comm, there was another sound of straining metal. "Kalok, enough. Leave the merc alone." Janna closed out the window. "Alright, Tirik Palad. You've seen the situation surrounding Khar'shan. What do you suggest we do?"

"The Reapers will slaughter everything in this system. We have to get to that Mass Relay."

"Oh, genius, merc," Laforge laughed contemptuously, "I'm sure all those souls exploding above Palaven didn't have the same thought."

"You cannot hide from the Reapers," Tirik snapped back, "Just ask the Protheans."

"We can't leave! Ask the batarians!"

"Enough!" Janna shouted, "We go to Spekilas."

"Spekilas?" Tirik asked, "That planet's only useful to conspiracy theorists and pulp writers. There's nothing there."

Laforge's mocking laugh came over the intercom. "I guess Hierarchy intelligence isn't as in depth as you turians think. Where better to hide the most secretive base in the Hegemony than in the babblings of fringe extranet writers and trashy novels."

Janna turned off the comm and looked over at Malus. "You remember the route?"

Malus let out a chuckle as he slipped into memory, "Northwestern hemisphere / Beneath the three-pronged mountain / The blizzard rages externally / I graze the overhang with the top of the ship / You swear / The tunnel of crystal narrows until it opens into a cavern / A small dock with port for two ships / A batarian voice on the radio directs us to the left / A landing / A snicker from me / Your scowl unchanging."

Spekilas was on the opposite side of the system, away from the carnage above Khar'shan. The Reapers had left it alone, preferring to focus on the not-so-secret military outposts of Verush.

Everything about this trip remained as Malus remembered, except for the batarian on the comm. The base was silent, the dock empty.

"Kill the drive," Janna said, not taking her eyes from the steel-gray structure buried in the ice. The cavern echoed the dying of the Phaeton's engines and then fell silent. A blood splattering on the large window of the control room was the only sign of life.

"More of a sign of death," Malus snickered aloud.

"What?" Janna asked.  
"Nothing, boss. What's the plan?"

Janna took a moment before flicking on the comm, "Everyone, suit up for trouble. Kallok, give the merc his equipment back. Heavy heist gear. Disembark ASAP."

They all met next to the ramp. Malus had thrown on his white and blue dappled coat, amused that for once it would be more useful for more than just turning heads. The color pattern blended decently with the icy walls of the cavern. He had rations and cluster grenades on his belt and in his jacket. With his Phalanx pistol in the holster on his hip, he drew his pulse rifle from off of his back. It was of Geth make, a trophy from one of his more exciting missions. He kept it not for its power or its overall efficiency, but for the noise it made as it spewed metal into his targets. The poet in him called it "The Chorus of Death-Birds." The poet in him was a moron.

Kalok had most of the supplies strapped to his back. Their considerable weight didn't seem to affect him as he hefted his Graal into position. The big krogan never complained about being the crew's pack mule. He never even mentioned it. He just did as Janna and Megan told him.

Megan stood in the corner, testing her cloaking by phasing in and out of sight repeatedly. Malus consistently found it amusing that the only person who could literally vanish had the least striking appearance, at least color-wise. Her suit was black with a red underlay. A dark red "y" ran from the top of her shoulders, met at her sternum and ended at her waist. The yellow lights along the jawline of her helmet cut a wicked smile as she ghosted in and out of vision. Her shoulder must've still been bothering her because her powerful sniper rifle, a Widow, was stored on her back, and her backup weapon, a Shuriken machine pistol, was in her good hand. Several grenades hung at her hip.

Janna stood in the back, hand on her omni-tool, going over diagnostics with her drone. The hard-light contruct's pulsing orange light shown into the visor of her helmet, revealing a brow furrowed in concentration. A Locust and a Phalanx were on her hips, though she didn't use them much. She preferred to corrupt enemies shields and pulse fire from her omni-tool, letting her drone hold the enemies' attention before detonating.

Palad was the last to arrive, fresh bandages on his face from where Janna had struck him. A Revenant was in his hands. Malus found the gun distasteful—too loud, too jarring, too ugly. But, he reminded himself, it was an uglier world growing uglier by the minute.

"Nice of you to join us, merc," Megan sneered.

The turian didn't look at her as he checked the sights on the gun, "Sorry, it was difficult to find enough heat sinks on this dump of a ship."

"Enough." Janna commanded, her drone fading out of existence, "We may not have a lot of time, so listen up. There's a control room near the entrance of the bay. Megan, you and Kalok head over there and check it out. If there's power, I want to know what the hell's happened here in the last day. I don't think we were followed, but first sign of trouble, you book it and join back up with us."

"Got it," Megan said, sliding on her helmet. Kalok merely nodded.

"Malus, me and the merc will head deeper in the complex."  
"What for?" Tirik asked.  
Malus chuckled. "You wanted a way out of the system, Palad? The good—likely dead—batarians will provide."

The two groups separated near the exit. As the doors to the control room slid open, Malus saw the blinking lights of several consoles, which meant the facility still had power. Malus also noted that, despite the blood on the window, there were no bodies. A steady string of red droplets ran from the control room to the exit door.

Megan holstered her pistol and moved towards one of the room's consoles. Kalok walked backwards into the room, glaring, Graal in hand as the door slid shut again.

"Alright, Malus, lead the way," Janna said, "Merc, cover him. I'll watch our backs."

"Just give me a minute." Malus lost himself in the memory. He was walking with Janna, being escorted by a batarian, a scientist. He and the boss were dithering on about payment and product while he was struggling to carry said product. Well, carrying and memorizing the layout of the complex. Janna generally made him accompany her whenever she went to "meetings." There were certain benefits to eidetic memory.

As he came up from the memory, Tirik asked, "So, what is it exactly we're burrowing into a forgotten planet to find?"

"The batarians have a ship here," Janna replied. "…a fast one."

"A fast one?"

Malus advanced down the hallway, trusting them to keep up. "Remember the 'top-secret' Alliance ship, Normandy?" He peered around the corner, making sure the coast was clear. He noted that the blood trail ran along the path they needed to take. "Well, once the Hegemony learned about it, they came here, trying to ape it. So to speak."

"But the Normandy was a turian-human project. The batarians can't possibly have the resources to pull something like that off."

Malus looked at him. "Remember the Leviathan of Dis?"

A wave of realization wash over the turian's features. His mandibles flexed outwards. "Oh," he said quietly.

"Yeah, oh." Malus approached a door and punched in the key code from memory. Guess the batarians hadn't changed them since they'd visited. Evidently, you didn't need tight internal security at a base less than fifty people knew about. Sloppy. "Apparently, the Leviathan was a Reaper, according to your info. So, I ask, what better way to get past Reapers than a ship—" He punched in the last few numbers. The door slid.

Over a score of batarians were heaped chest-high in the center of the room. Blood seeped from the pile like some fetid tide-pool. Judging by the smell, they had been there awhile.

"—made out of a Reaper…" Malus trailed off.

"Spirits," Tirik prayed.

Janna shouldered past them both and scanned the pile with her omni-tool. "All dead. Most of gunshot wounds. Several of blunt cranial trauma. One of strangulation."

"Who did this," Tirik asked as he and Malus stepped into the room.

Malus circled the pile, skirting the red puddle. There were bloody bootprints everywhere. There was no system to the disposal. Someone had been doing a lot of frantic pacing. "No one in their right mind, that's for certain."

Megan's voice came over the comm, "Alright, I've managed to pull up the relevant logs for this station in the last day and cross referenced them with what the Hegemony media's been broadcasting about the Reapers. Approximately, one hour before the Reapers hit, a scientist was found dead in a lab. Within in the next twenty minutes, seven more bodies had been found. The station was put on full alert but the death toll didn't seem to be slowing. Key members of the staff were eliminated first. Apparently, the situation got bad enough that they eventually stopped logging information. That, or everyone died. Last estimate puts the murders at over a dozen."

Malus eyed the pile. "The last estimate was undercutting it quite a bit."

"What?"

"We've found what looks like most of the dead," Janna cut in, "Any other suspicious activity before the murders?"

"No. Only external activity logged was a routine supply run two weeks ago."  
"Do you have a list of the staff last known alive?" Tirik asked.

"I'm not an idiot, merc."

"Then, I assume you've also got a log of keyed access codes synched with that list."

There was a brief pause. Malus shot a smirk and a shrug to the turian. Megan's voice came back over the comm with less of an edge, "I do now. Lead scientist Trill Kho'roon keyed into Sector Zeta five minutes ago."

Malus looked at the wall above the door they had entered in. Sector Zeta was scrawled in white. "Uh, that must've been me," Malus laughed softly, "And I think it goes without saying that I didn't do this."

"Okay, well aside from that, all of the other logins within the last several hours have been from Alecto Burag."

"Scientist?" Malus asked.  
"Janitor."  
"Janitor?"

"A janitor who killed over two dozen people," Janna barked. "Megan, where'd this psycho sign in last?"

There was a brief pause. "Oh, shit. Hanger 7."

"Christ, let's move people," Janna shouted, hustling to the door on the other side of the room. She punched in the code and stood aside as he and Tirik rushed pass. "I don't want this guy anywhere near our ship!"

Malus sprinted down the halls. The time for caution was long gone. When he finally reached the door to the hangar, he drew his Phalanx from its holster as Tirik and Janna finally caught up.

"This guys probably indoctrinated," Tirik said quickly, "Under Reaper control. They do that. Recommend shoot first, questions never. Drell, what's this hangar look like?"

"Big, open," Malus grinned. "Like a hangar."

"Do you ever not make jokes?"

"Enough," Janna snapped, "Be ready for anything when I open this door."

The doors slid open. Malus rushed in. Across the hangar, out of range, the batarian was attaching something to the underbelly of the ship. The batarian heard the door open, saw them, and dashed for a stack of boxes nearby. Malus stretched out his free hand, mid-sprint, and felt the boxes with his mind. Focusing his biotics, he flung the boxes across the room.

Stunned, the batarian stopped and cast about for somewhere else to hide.

A single shot whizzed by Malus's head, so close he could feel the air coming off of it. It hit the batarian square in the back and he fell limp to the floor.

Malus whirled around and saw Tirik standing, pistol in hand, smoke rising from the barrel. "Hey idiot, you coulda shot me!"

"But I didn't," the turian said nonchalantly. Valid point, but Malus wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of knowing that or that he found it incredible the merc had made the shot. Maybe there was something to this guy after all.

"You two, make sure he's down," Janna commanded, "I'll make sure everything's good to go." She strode off in the direction of the control room while he and the turian advanced on the still batarian.

"Admit it," Malus said, "that was just a lucky shot."

"If you knew me, drell, you'd know that luck's never on my side."

"True, we did capture you pretty handily."

As they near the body, it let out a groan. They both leveled their sidearms at the writhing janitor as he turned over. His frock was stained with blood, his own and that of his coworkers.

He drew in a wheezing breath, his lungs filling with fluid. "The Masters," he coughed. "They know. They will destroy all of—" Malus fired a single round in the janitor's head.

Holstering his weapon, Malus tapped his comm piece. "Ladies and krogan, I think we're going to have problems soon."


End file.
